Sunday Afternoons

  • I sit at home
    At my desk alone
    As I used to do
    On many Sunday afternoons
    When you came back to me
    Your arms ached for me
    And your arms would close me in
    Though they smelled of other women

    I think of you
    On Sunday afternoons
    I think of you
    On Sunday afternoons
    I think of you
    On Sunday afternoons
    I think of you
    On Sunday afternoons

    Your sweet head would bow
    Like a child somehow
    Down to me
    And your hair and your eyes were wild

    We would embrace on the floor
    You see my back's still sore
    You knew how easely I bruised
    It's a soreness I would never lose.

    I think of you
    On Sunday afternoons
    I think of you
    On Sunday afternoons
    I think of you
    On Sunday afternoons
    I think of you
    On Sunday afternoons

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